


The Black Wedding

by TrashqueenofAngmar91



Series: Of Shadows and Tenderness [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Berwûld is your boi, Dark Magic, F/M, Headcanon, He’s kind of a sycophant but he’s got your back, In which you become DA KWEEN, Mordor style weddings suck, Reader is a woman, Reader is of the race of Man, Sauron Being an Asshole, Soul Bond, Takes place after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, The Mouth is a little shitlord, Witch-king drinks respect women juice, Witch-king survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashqueenofAngmar91/pseuds/TrashqueenofAngmar91
Summary: Sometimes women were anxious before getting married. On the other hand, you were terrified.Takes place about a year before the events in “The House of Angmar”.
Relationships: Witch-King of Angmar/Reader
Series: Of Shadows and Tenderness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/806124
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	The Black Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> It’s another one of those things I wish I explored more in an earlier but didn’t. Oh well better late than never and I still love Witch-king stuff so yeah. This series isn’t dead quite yet, I’ve just run out of ideas for it for now. Here’s to hoping I think of another One-shot of sorts soon.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

The Black Wedding

When you were a child, you were far more prone to imagining slaying dragons like the hero Túrin Turambar or finding one of the fabled, lost Silmarils. You were more likely to fantasize over things of that nature. The stories you were regaled and the books you read only fueled those glorious reveries and they were the grandest of your obsessions when you were so young, untroubled and innocent. There were hardly any other things that captured your attention and enthralled you.

"Don't be afraid, my lady. You've been here for this long and no bad has befallen you. You've been treated well and you have nothing to fear."

You hardly thought about getting married so long ago. That was the least of your concerns. You disregarded such things, deciding it was something your future self would deal with eventually. You only thought about it once or twice and hadn't given much thought about it since then. All you envisioned was that you would have flowers in your hair, wear a nice, clean, white dress and being married to a handsome but nondescript man, whoever he might've been. There would be festivities, merriment, laughter, smiling faces and happy memories. It would be a positive event.

"Perhaps you would like a glass of wine to help soothe your nerves?"

Never did you foresee that this would occur. You had no earthly idea that you would indeed be married under conditions such as these. Your family was absent as were your friends and any familiar, friendly faces. There would be no feast. There would be no joy. There was no special, stunning dress to wear. And you had no idea what the groom's face looked like.

This was a nightmare. Correction, this was a nightmare that you would never wake up from. You were already awake and it was so very, truly real. There was no escaping from this. Not only that, you had agreed to do it. It was far past the point of no return.

The words of the Orcish servant were unheard by you. His words went unanswered as you struggled to grasp how this all amounted to this harrowing destiny. You were a prisoner inside your mind, constricted by fear and disbelieving what was about to happen. You were in the middle of this mental turmoil, unable to pay any attention to the dark, cold world around you.

You should have spent the night in the library. If you had done that, if you had decided to not keep the promise you made to your mother, you most likely wouldn't have been in this situation. You would be untroubled, unafraid and free.

"My lady?"

All of this was unfair. Why were you cursed to share a dead woman's face? Why was he cursed to remember only that face from his forgotten, mortal tenure?

You couldn't hold back the tears. Although you had been a pampered prisoner within Minas Morgul for well over a few months, the fear always lingered. The terror of the unknown, of the shadow. At any day, this could all end and you could very well end up dead and in some gutter for the Orcs to feast upon. Or you would suffer the cold, piercing stab of the Morgul blade and you would become like him and be a doomed apparition. Anything could happen at any time.

And yet, you were still alive. He wouldn't let you disappear. He still wanted to recreate that which he lost countless years ago.

"My lady, there is no need for such tears!"

Berwûld strove to make things for the better. That was his assignment and he wouldn't let his master's bride become too overcome. He was his master's trusted servant in Minas Morgul and he didn't dream of having the lord of the Nazgûl frown upon him for whatever reason. His record was perfect and he wouldn't let his performance be sullied.

"Come now, my lady!" the short, one eyed Orc encouraged. It was a strange concept to be soothing and sensible but Berwûld would manage it. He took his task seriously and would do everything in his power to make it all better. "This is a happy day! You needn't mourn as if you're at some dismal, depressing funeral!"

You were finally snapped out of your inner woes and acknowledged the presence of the creature that was chosen to be your servant and guide. You looked at the Orc, his unsightly visage no longer unsettling you. Before you began your stay at Minas Morgul, you never met an actual Orc but heard plenty about them. Truthfully, you felt somewhat lucky that this individual was entrusted to your service. He was unlike his brethren and it eased you a little.

"Today, you will be officially recognized as the Morgul Lady!" he smiled, trying to lift your spirits. "This is a grand honor and an exciting occasion! Oh, you are a lucky woman!"

"I am petrified!" you blurted. You outright confessed that thought, finding it totally pointless to try to hide it. "It's so hard to find the strength to do this…"

"I know that my master has a daunting and…overbearing countenance. But he has allowed you to dwell within his personal chambers for all these months? And has given you clean food and water? And has instructed me to caretake and guide you? It is clear to me that he values you, my lady. If he had no interest in you, you would've been disposed of long ago. Everything the Witch-king does is not without good reason. And he wants to marry you!" He chuckled. "If I was in your shoes, I would be very willing and delighted!"

The abrupt, outlandish mental image of this Orc in a dress made you halt momentarily. It actually caused you to give a small smile and snicker quietly. You wiped your tears away and let out a shaky breath.

"I fear my luck will run out," you explained further. "I fear my time is limited and I will meet a grim end here…"

"Banish those thoughts, my lady," he persisted. "I have known him for a very long time and I am still somewhat astonished over this whole ordeal myself. I have served him for a thousand years and I never saw anything like this before. His interest in you is genuine and keen. I do not think he will tire of you so quickly. No, I wager he will keep you until your last breath…"

That frightened you. You couldn't imagine yourself living within these walls for decades. But now it was becoming more and more of a possibility. There might every well be a chance you would be here for the rest of your life, however long it may be.

"Chin up, my lady," Berwûld encouraged you. "Look forward to your future with him with glee and happiness! Now, come, we must go. The Dark Lord's servant is here and he is the one who will officiate and bind you and my master. We shan't delay this a moment longer. Are you ready?"

You were not going to be dragged out of the chambers, kicking and screaming. No, you had a little more dignity than that. You had to face your future and prepare for whatever laid ahead, no matter how macabre or frightening it was. This was what fate had dealt you and you had no choice but to go forth. There was no point in forestalling the inevitable.

You only agreed to this in order to ensure the survival and retrieval of your family members. You would do this for them. Not only that, with you being trapped within the citadel of the dead, you had to adapt to the circumstances. Perhaps, in order to survive the darkness, you would have to learn to endure and live with it.

This wedding could not occur without you.

"Yes," you announced, "take me to my husband."

(…)

When the heavy, wooden doors parted, you expected to see two awaiting figures. You were mildly alarmed and surprised to see there was only one. And this only one was an individual you had never seen before. But immediately, you deemed this was the aforementioned servant of Sauron.

Berwûld kept at your side, making sure to keep you going and to reinforce your courage. You could make out the quietest of growls coming from him as he saw that this officiant was on his own. Perhaps the Orc didn't like this individual…

"I am a very busy man," the guest spoke. "It was not wise or polite to have kept me waiting, Orc."

You blinked at the gravely, distorted voice this Man seemed to have. He was garbed entirely from head to toe in black. He didn't turn around to face you but you could tell he was wearing some sort of head gear.

"My master is not here as well," Berwûld noted.

"He had some business to attend to very quickly," the being spoke. "He will be joining us before we know it. Have you at least followed your master's orders and brought the…trophy?"

At last, the guest turned around, facing you at last. Your eyes widened when you gazed upon his face, or what little there was that revealed. The helmet that he wore covered a good majority of his façade and the only thing visible was his unsightly, filthy, diseased looking mouth. His teeth were blackened, his lips cracked and chapped. His physical appearance was as withered, twisted and corrupted as his soul.

"Ah!" the Mouth exclaimed, smiling widely. "It is a delight to see thee!"

You couldn't answer this creature. All you could do was stare back, aghast and unsure of what to say. His voice felt like it was chilling the marrow in your bones. It sounded like boiling poison and you felt increasingly nauseous for as long as you looked back at him. This Man felt so evil and rotten. Physically, he may have been a Man but he felt like anything but that.

Although the Nazgûl and this puppet of Sauron were both servants of their master, each felt markedly different. The Wraiths brought terror and intimidation with them. Their auras were oppressive and deadly and they inspired fear in weaker beings around them. In extreme cases, their mere presence sickened more unfortunate folk.

This new individual was a wholly different story. He only filled you with disgust and loathing. You had no fear in you as you studied his shape. His very voice was offensive and sickening. Somehow, in some way you couldn't describe or understand, not even to yourself, his company was far more unbearable than that of a Nazgûl.

"So, this is the one who has ensnared the Witch-king's attention," the Mouth said. "I must admit, I expected more. Such a mediocre maiden but not as ugly as an Orc."

"Mind your tongue," Berwûld snarled. "Minas Morgul is not your realm and you are not in Mordor. You are in the Witch-king's lair and your slander will not be tolerated here. You forget that my master is leagues above you. You are rather low on the chain of command. You are not immune to him."

"And you should mind yours, lowly Orc. Who are you to address me as such? You are merely a pathetic servant. A simple…scrap of rotted meat."

The tension was obviously rife and thick already. For some reason or another, it seemed as if the Orc and the Mouth were at odds. You had no clue why their exchange was so hostile. You also sensed there was more to this exchange than what met the eye. Honestly, you were surprised by the servant's treatment of Sauron's puppet. You were so used to seeing Berwûld be nothing but courteous and accommodating since your arrival. It was uncharacteristic.

"I yield to you, Mouth of Sauron, only to avoid any grief," the Orc reluctantly said.

"Know your place, chattel," the deformed Man spoke spitefully. "Get thee gone."

His repulsive, huge smile returned and his helmed head tilted to the side. Though his eyes were covered by his gear, somehow, he seemed to see and perceive you. It made your skin crawl and you could only stare back, unsettled by this nightmarish aberration.

"Such a small and fragile thing," he hissed as he studied you. "The dear flower knows not what awaits her... Though you are blind and foolish, I still eagerly welcome your ladyship into the company and servitude of the darkness."

This…thing was haughty, arrogant and vile. He had insulted you and no longer would you tolerate this.

"If my servant speaks the truth," you said, "if the Witch-king is your superior, then you would do well to cease this. I am to be his wife after all." You smirked. "I do believe I outrank you by accepting his hand in matrimony. But if you still have any grievances, I do implore you to speak to him. I'm sure he will be more than happy to treat with you."

"Ha!" the Mouth scoffed. "A Dúnedain wench drunk off of power is an embarrassing thing to see… My dear, you seem to be nothing more than a whore about to be queened."

Those words ignited a rage in you. Your hands balled up into fists and you were more than tempted to smite this serpent of Sauron. Your stare hardened and turned steely. But you willed yourself to hold your ground. This was an emissary of the Dark Lord and you knew you had to remain calm and collected. If you had attacked him, things could potentially turn very ugly, very quickly. That was something you wanted to avoid as much as you could.

"Cowardly dog," Berwûld shook his head in disdain and disgust. “If you weren't Sauron's puppet, you would have met your end long ago!"

The room suddenly felt unbearably cold and oppressive. This was a sensation you were all too familiar with. You felt this one too many times. At this point, you had almost become accustomed to it.

Out from the shadows, the vast, dark, armored shape came forward. It almost looked as if the darkness itself had become its own entity and was approaching. How long he lingered there, you had no idea but now he was making his presence known. His stride was long and purposeful and his empty but crowned hood was held highly and proudly.

"Do not waste your time with this slime, Berwûld," the Wraith lord spoke. "He is a lost cause who has a terrible lack of manners. Now, leave."

A sly, snide grin spread across the Orc's face. He gave the Witch-king a light curtsy and turned on his heels. Then he began to walk out, leaving the hall, knowing and hoping for what was to come. You could've sworn you even heard him stifle a mischievous snicker.

The Mouth of Sauron was still. His leer on you was unbroken and it appeared as if he refused to look away. You almost swore it seemed like he was afraid to turn around.

"You know plenty of the traits and affairs of whores, do you not?" the Witch-king said, speaking to the guest. "You know them better than any of us here."

The rotting smirk on the Mouth's face had all but fled. He still bore his teeth but he was frowning quite evidently. Again, he refused to turn around and face the Morgul lord.

You audibly gasped when the Witch-king suddenly drew his blade and let it rest against the side of the Mouth's neck. It all happened so fast that you barely had any time to react. For an instant, it seemed like he was fully poised to decapitate the Mouth but he had stopped just short of that. The worthy, sharp sword pressed against the flesh, fully poised to break skin with a mere motion of its owner's wrist.

Visibly, the Mouth flinched but he made no noise. He stood rigid and you could sense the fear radiating from him. The envoy of the dark powers stood as unmoving as possible, doing his damndest to avoid showing weakness. But all too easily, you could see him fail. As you looked closely, you could see he was quivering yet it was barely noticeable.

"You speak one more foul, disrespectful word of my bride and I will cut you off from your beloved master," he vowed. "I do mean that literally. You may have a lofty rank and are the lieutenant of Barad-dûr but you are still replaceable. There are other Men like you who will take your place. Do not goad what you cannot hope to win against, worm. This is my lair, my dominion and that is my wife. Do not forget those things."

The Mouth of Sauron's lips pulled back into a toothy but surrendering snarl. He let out a small grunt and nodded his head a few times. He knew what he was up against. Though he was a puppet of Sauron's, the Mouth knew he was below the Nazgǔl in many ways. He knew he couldn't compete with the likes of them, especially the Witch-king. He bested him in the ways of the sword, combat and in sorcery as well. The lord of Minas Morgul wasn't to be trifled with. The Black Númenorean had heard his fair share of stories and he had one too many encounters with him over the years. 

"Ah ha, of course," the Mouth smiled but it was clearly strained and forced. "Forgive me for my…crassness. Indeed, I have been sent for one errand and I shall not tarry any longer. Are we ready to proceed?"

The lord of the Wraiths was appeased with that answer. His sword lingered on the Black Númenorean man's neck for an extra second or two before he finally pulled it away. Securely, he drew it into its sheath on his hip and he joined you at your side. He gazed at you and then held his right hand out to you, offering it.

"You are ready, my dear?" he asked.

Whereas he addressed the Mouth in a harsh, wrathful tone, he regarded you in a kinder manner. His voice was calm and it was almost like a soft whisper with you. His stare was unseen but you felt somewhat soothed by it. There was absolutely no hostility or malice being directed towards you. There was a hint of eagerness radiating from him. He seemed like he was anticipating this moment.

Some of that fear seemed to disappear in you. And as bizarre as it was, despite it all, somehow, he still made you feel safe. In truth, if you had to endure Minas Morgul without him, you knew it would be that much harder on you.

He was your guide and your shield in the realm of shadows. True, he may have ferried you off against your will but he kept you safe. You had to rely on him to traverse this frightening, dark, realm.

You took his hand. With surprising gentleness, he tightened his grip and held your hand in his.

"Yes," you nodded. "If you are, I am."

The both of you turned, facing the officiant who would establish and consecrate the bond. The Mouth stood silent, waiting to begin his part. He was frowning, looking somewhat displeased.

"Then let us not waste another moment," the servant of Sauron began. His nauseating smile made an inevitable, triumphant return. "The Dark Lord has been most generous. He has decided to bless his greatest servant an unusual boon. And therefore he has commanded me to bring thee close in matrimony as per the request of the Witch-king of Angmar. There is no rejection? There are no second thoughts?"

"None," you answered. You spoke before your betrothed could and you could tell both weren't expecting it. “This is what I want."

"And you have objections, Witch-king?"

"None," he retorted. "I desire her."

"Your hands are joined?"

"Yes. Begin."

"My dear, thee are very, very lucky…" He smiled wickedly and his grin seemed impossibly wide. "To have a Dúnedain born woman welcomed into our ranks? And to be joined in a lovely bonding with your chosen mate? Very, lucky indeed. A most wise and correct choice."

You said nothing to the Mouth. You only stared at him, silent and trying to be as unwavering and unmoved as possible. You only wished he didn't have the same keen sense of smell as a Nazgûl or else you were certain he'd be able to pick up on your anxiety. It was also more than likely the one you were about to be wed to picked up on your internalized fear but didn't address it. You were thankful he seemed to ignore that.

The Mouth's smile never waned. He raised both hands high up into the air and in a loud, clear voice, he began to recite something in Black Speech. The fell language made you feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. It was the tongue of the enemy and you also had absolutely no idea what he was saying. A part of you wanted to know just what it was. Yet the other half of you had no desire to uncover the truth. Deep inside, you had a feeling he was speaking damning and binding words and you almost felt lucky you weren’t fluent in the language of Sauron's servants.

You tried to ignore the words the Mouth uttered. Slightly, you lowered your head, choosing to not look at the loathsome, warped Man that was tethering you to the Witch-king.

This was not how you imagined your wedding to be. Your family was absent. You were stuck in this cold, stony room and in the company of this devotee of the Dark Lord. There was nothing romantic or lively about this. Instead, you felt as if you were a prisoner about to be sentenced. And then there was the fact your husband's face was totally unknown to you.

He continued to hold your hand. Your fingers tightened around his own hand in return. At least you knew he placed some strange value on you. While you were in the lands of Minas Morgul, you were granted safety and assurance. You would have to adapt and accept the changes. There was no room for failure.

You were snapped out of your inner thoughts and musings when you felt particularly odd. Although the armored hand of the Witch-king was already cold, you suddenly felt as if it became chillier. It felt as if a frigid film of ice was covering your joined hand. You glanced down at, seeing nothing was there as far as you could see.

The Mouth of Sauron continued to rehearse in his coarse and distorted voice. For as long as he spoke, it seemed like your hand grew colder. You tried your hardest to ignore this unusual but alarming sensation.

Then it suddenly became painful. And it also felt like it was traveling up your arm. The pain and the icy bite only increased as it migrated upwards. You bit your lower lip in a vain attempt to endure it and you tightened your hand around your groom's. Though this was harming you, you refused to give out or let alone utter a single noise. You refused to show weakness before Sauron's willing slave. You refused to be seen as vulnerable and open to predation of the mind, body and soul.

He persisted in his speech, the volume slightly increasing. The pain and the cold had travelled up your shoulder and it seemed like it was radiating out towards your heart. When this happened, that's when you began to feel terrified.

You felt the Wraith lord squeeze your hand.

" _It is almost done. Do not let go. This will pass._ "

He didn't speak at all but yet you heard his voice in your head. That startled you for an instant but instead of wondering how you heard him, you followed his advice. Your hand gripped his with all the strength that you could muster. Somehow, it felt like holding onto his gauntlet with such might and force made it easier to endure this phantasmal agony. At any moment, you thought you were going to faint or collapse to your knees.

You willed yourself to remain strong. You urged yourself to have courage and not cave. Before the Mouth, you couldn't afford to surrender.

Then it stopped. He ceased to speak and he lowered his arms. The pain stopped but the sensation lingered. The wedding concluded.

"It is done," the Mouth announced. "Minas Morgul has its queen. Now I shall take my leave and grant the newlyweds…privacy. Congratulations."

A guttural almost gurgling chuckle came from him. Without another word, he turned around made his way out of the room. Now that his errand was complete, he would return to Barad-Dûr.

Although the ceremony was completed, you still held onto your consort's hand. You only glared at the back of the Mouth's head, watching him go. You felt like you had to hold your ground and remain like this until he had left the room. You didn't trust him in the slightest.

When he opened the door on the far side of the room and then shut it, you felt a release. As the door closed behind him, it created an echo in the room. In the middle of that echo, you felt your strength leave you.

Yet before you could collapse into a heap onto the floor, you felt his arms swiftly wrap around you. He supported you, forbidding you from hitting the stony floor below. Limply and weakly, you hung in his grasp, placing your complete trust in him during this moment of vulnerability. The aftershocks of the agony ran through you, draining you and making you feel as if your very life force was sapped.

"What was that devilry?" you asked.

"The Dark Lord's blessing," the Witch-king revealed. "If you want to call it that… He granted the Mouth some of his power so he could bind us and entwine our beings together. He is capable of such a feat. The Mouth himself couldn't execute something like this on his own for he is not that powerful."

You didn't like the sound of it but you supposed you shouldn't have been too shocked by such a thing either. Dark magic and might had solidified this union and bound you to the Witch-king and he to you. The thought sickened you but more than anything else, you were drained and overcome from such a ritual.

"You are mortal, that is why it is harsh on you," he explained further. "Come, you must rest. Drink some water and sleep. You will feel stronger when you awake."

"That pain," you said. "What was that? It was horrid…"

"A link between you and I was established. Even from a vast distance, we can perceive and sense one another's feelings. And I sense you are confused, frightened and weary."

He was able to sense what you felt? The thought unsettled you but you were merely happy to have survived that ritual.

"When I held your hand, I felt intense heat," he continued. "I felt as if I was about to burst into flames. For an instant, I believed I stood inches away from the Eye."

"I felt as if my very heart was about to be frozen solid in my chest," you admitted.

He was quiet when you told him that. He seemed puzzled by your experience and was unsure of what to think of it.

"We are two different creatures," he guessed. "You are aligned with the life and light. I am condemned to shadow and death. Perhaps that is why faced these differing sensations. But let us muse over that at another time. Come."

He still held you, making sure you would fall into a heap. Slowly, he walked, entreating you to follow him.

With staggering steps, you followed him. He supported you but you managed to walk, soldiering through the lingering waves of pain that shot up from your arm and through your chest.

This was finished. But now that there was this link that was forged between the two of you, you were curious but nervous. For now, you would follow his advice and rest. You needed to overcome the exhaustion and toil that the ceremony placed on you.

Now you were a queen. But that was the least of your concerns.


End file.
